Oh beautiful day: part two

The Polish and African neighbors were all in it together. You wouldn't want to be talking too loudly, because then they'll hear we would be leaving. The manic paranoia crushes your a heart a bit as it stares you into the face. Am I really going to do this with the mum and the dad? The sun's out, warm and comforting, oh glorious Sunday, but there's a nagging chill inside. One could say it is fear and trepidation.

Dad's all ready for it, with sturdy walking shoes, and a backpack for the books. Mum and dad chat away about the places they used to live long before I was born. About people they used to know, but oh how they can't remember their names. They share some comforting cliches about old age and the memory going. Mum asks whether we're being followed by a car. That's a conversation stopper right there, mum.

We walk into the tent, get our bearings. They both get a pull cart for the books, and off they are, dad towards the science and life books, mum towards the English section. Dad bunkers down solidly. Mum's looking slightly panicked, not really looking at titles or covers, just breezing past, one eye looking for the exit.

I ground her. Together we do the English section. The urge to flee is right under her skin, groping for excuses. Shouldn't you look out for your dad, where is he? But dad's only five meters further down the isle he started by the time we're finished. His cart is filled to the brim though. All books of science, very interesting! We need to check out and come back for more! I drag up the zen mothers all over the world find somewhere deep in their bellies when talking to wayward children. We're not doing that, dad. Don't you have plenty of books already? Besides, my car isn't big enough. But some of these books are only 2 euros! The manic desire to own everything that's on cheap offer staring brazenly into my face. They start chatting, hoorah, and mum forgets she wants to flee and dad forgets he wants to by the world for a penny.

The chill nags, like a sleepy cat repositioning on my lap.
I come from these two broken people.
Am I like this?
If not now, than later?

And upon this burden gets heaped the praise for their prodigal sons, who are not here to drive them to bookfairs on their only free Sunday this month. Not here to face their demons. Their amazing first born. Their amazing second born.

And by the time we're home, and they can rest from this formidable excursion, the world has gone grey to me, again, and tasteless. No matter how well the sun shines.

Oh beautiful day: part 1

The sun shines bone warming rays. The air still got that brittle cold from a spring night with clear open skies. Today we go on an expedition, me mum, me dad, and me. But first, what comes before...

Mother
Me mum threw everything out, old clothes, old books, old friends. There are walls around her. Within she is alone. All alone. Nothing but strangers around her, and new things she doesn't always remember buying. New stuff that isn't as good as the old stuff, but the envious and petty people took all that stuff away. She doesn't remember throwing everything out. I've learned not to point that out, because she's a proud woman, and she forgets many things but things like that. She's not crazy, I'm a snotnosed brat that always knows better, is what it is.

So there, I shrug, and frown a bit, and make noncommittal sounds and just let her explain the strange world she lives in, when I'm not around. Everyday I fight silently, to get her past her own walls. Small steps, little sips. I visit every day. When I don't I call. Everyday five minutes or more to break the monologue in her mind with which she builds those walls and mans them with envious neighbors that live in the ceiling and make noise just to spite her.

Father
Me dad's a hoarder. Discounts are his addiction. Five for the price of six makes him buy two packs of something he does not need. The amount of stuff a person can buy in case per chance one day one might need such a handy two-penny piece of plastic crap is amazing. We should go back to his house one of these days to get a few bobs and bits he still needs, and then he can sell the house.

Me dad, like my mother, forgets. Since the brain clot, not a lot gets written down in long term memory. He manages, with little notes. He adapts. He's a good little soldier like that. But what he doesn't remember is: things change. At first it's maddening, having to explain again that the clothes he has in the apartment are all the clothes he has, and no, there is no closet in the old house filled with clothes. Then it becomes maddening, because every time again I have to explain how come all his cameras are gone, all his flashlight, all his clothes, anything of value, and every time again it breaks his heart. And I wonder if he's ever going to remember once we do sell the house?

Events leading up to the expedition
Dad saw a notice for a bookfair in the paper. He's never been to one. He lies, because he thinks it will get him what he wants. In this way parents become like little children. But yes, I'll gladly spend a few hours of those hard to come by free days, to visit this bookfair with him. I'll be having to break his heart about the amount of  books I'm willing to stow away in my car. He might not be able to cope with it when there's too many people around and than he'll want to go home before have laid eyes on a first title. But I'm thinking maybe I can get me mum along, out from behind her walls? I'll sell it as like I don't know if I can cope with dad if he gets funny. I know it makes her feel strong, when she thinks she's in better shape than dad. So of course she will come; she won't tell me it's because she really needs to get out of the house but is too afraid of the world, but says she'll help me with dad. So in the end we all lie in preparation of the great expedition.

!January's rant!

Promise to self and digiblips: at least one rant per month!

Because I ended reading this in an attempt to put off studying for my Russian exam tonight, I'll lift out some random replies.

"This is really not a positive representation of women with agency."
I've commented here before on discussions I've had on the theme of women, the cliches and genre elements surrounding them, especially in "epic" fantasy. Most of such discussions end in women  not speaking to me, and helpful men trying to tell me that She is right, and I am wrong. Right there's the paradox in Female Power, you see, my dearest digiblips, because female power works like Bush's Axis of Good: you are either with them, or against them. It's a game women folk play, dear gents, and in the world of chickens, it even has a name.
Anyways, the last couple of years there has been much ado about the place of Woe-man in fantasy and science-fiction. To some points I agree: there is no reason why female authors, nor female characters, should be given less consideration and care. These are mainly issues of marketing and . But I draw the line when the solutions seems to point to More Strong Female Characters All The Time and such nonsense. When I'm in a quaint but happy mood I see in it a plot of Emancipated Caucasian Chicks Inc. putting their hands together with Men who like Two Strong Female Characters for all the obvious reasons. Let's not turn every fantasy story into "Xena and Gabrielle", thank you very much. But mostly it makes me afraid of what Emancipated Caucasian Chicks Inc. will say upon reading my stories.
Seriously, in Dreams of Cold Stone there's only 4 females. Two are simply extras, and two aren't really there (one exists only in memory, being the deceased wife, and the other, a goddess, is an even vaguer female presence).

"If Sullivan desired to invent a dialect, he should have done so. False archaism is sloppy and lazy."
OH YEAH BECAUSE WHAT FANTASY REALLY NEEDS IS EVEN MORE IDIOTS THAT CAN SPEAK IN TONGUES ALL DAY.

"Heavy handed criticism can do wonders when it comes to the too easy habit of letting authors write disposable, unmemorable fantasy/fiction in general."
Yes, because the world absolutely and urgently needs an agency to mark people that dare to write, so a proper quality control of their produce can be done all the time. And here I thought the book-trade was a market regulated world, where--however lamentable or painful this sometimes is--if there are enough people out there willingly to buy shit, writing shit is A-ok.

Tired

• of people who should know better, since writing is what they do, than to contribute to the easy pegging of names/words to people, whether the issues are racism, religiously inspired dumbassery, feminism, and all other sorts of morality based judgments. We've got enough crap like that going on TV and the blogosphere as it is.
• of people who should know better twice-over, since writing Sfaich is what they do, than to contribute to reigning and ever-growing dumbassery that everything can be reduced to one simple word, one single issue. If world-making is already such a daunting task, why not learn from the experience and deduce that the real world is an even more daunting place to describe accurately?
• of people who should know better thrice-over, since they have hands-on experience on dealing with readers who may or may not give the whole extent of their lifework but a casual glance before making an easy single-word judgment based on a paragraph or even one book out of many. If you're not prepared to read up on the complicated field of ethics, don't make simple judgments based on an article or two, and especially don't parrot others who were obviously just as lazy.

Or, to quote my man Marcus:

Word after word, every one by itself, must the things that are spoken be conceived and understood; and so the things that are done, purpose after purpose, every one by itself likewise. And as in matter of purposes and actions, we must presently see what is the proper use and relation of every one; so of words must we be as ready, to consider of every one what is the true meaning, and signification of it according to truth and nature, however it be taken in common use
~Meditations, Book VII.4

Talking to walls

or thin air for that matter is a hobby of mine, dearest digiblips. So really, I'm not offended by the silence when silence is what I not only expect but partly also hope for.

In real life however I'm not so keen on silence, especially when silence is what I expect nor hope for. Also not so keen on people who support you all the way except for that last step. No stomach for that "yes yes go kill that dragon we're right behind you, really!" sort of situation, not when you're the finding all those supporters lacking when the dragon puts its beady eye on you. But, as a writer of unpublished shit, I'll give it a bit of spin and pretend it's a learning experience. And it is true, in yesterday's meeting of the fencing club direction I've learned quite a bit about group dynamics, about the courage of men, of how things are discussed and decided before and after the meeting but not during (what kind of crazy expectations is this silly blonde having anyways?), of how easy history is rewritten and how easy it is to get from SNAFU to FUBAR.

So, FUBAR got all over yesterday's non-review and it won't be for today either. We'll see. I must now take time and pour energy into separating those mountains that I can move, and those mountains I'll only ever be pretending to be moving. Because after yesterday's meeting it was clear that all the time and effort I've put into the club the last couple of months comes down to me desperately trying to fill my empty life and that honestly not where I thought I was. Stupid enchanted forests.

Jitterbugs

There's still some fallout drifting past from someone's misinterpreted brainfart, like snow or dandruff. Little things bug me in what people say in their fierce condemnation of said brainfart, because while most comments or open letters about said brainfart are quite thoughtful, some of those thoughtful people proceed to run into the same fail. Not race fail. Not religion fail. Word fail. Thought fail. In a discussion about morals and ethics, I consider that pretty bad shit, digiblips.

This afternoon, a bug bit me when Shaun Duke/SMD over at his blog, World In a Satin Bag, added some more beating of the dead horse by beating someone else beating a dead horse. But then I figured, hey, enough dead horses already, and who's going to eat all that?

Yet I couldn't refrain from skimming the reactions, where another huge bug but me while I read Dave Baxter's comment:

I still disagree with you, SMD, that Moon displayed politics worthy of a boycott (though they were faulty, I still fail to perceive the majority of stances you claimed she'd supported with that controversial post), but yeah, this guy's "If you boycott, then we'll boycott you" is the beginning of a Middle East style never-ending sense of victimization on all sides.
"Middle East style never-ending sense of victimization on all sides"? Does the Middle East have sole right, or enough right to make it a style, to "never-ending sense of victimization on all sides"? Why could he not have made that statement without adding "Middle East style"? Or supplant it with, oh, myriad of choices here.... Belgian style (Flemish-Walloon)? Irish style (Protestant-Catholic)? Eastern Europe style (Balkans, anyone?). Central African (ehm, go ahead, close your eyes and put your finger on a map of the area; I'm sure there's a story that makes it a perfect fit)... How about Cold War style?
Considering the context I think "Middle East style" is a really really really bad choice of words to voice your thoughts. And fuzzy: what Middle East we talking about? Israel/Palestine? Bahrain? Egypt? Iraq?

Then, closer to home: in the cached and saved and widely spread around comment section of Elizabeth Moon's post, a bug bit me in the ass when I read Rhipowered's comment:

The line-up confuses me. What do France, Belgium and Switzerland have in common, and, by omission, have not in common with the Netherlands, Germany, Spain, UK...?
Seeing how later on France's burqa ban is mentioned, I'm left to assume it's about veils and burqas. But even then I don't see the logic of the line-up. The discussion on a burqa ban has been raging in the Netherlands since late 2005. As far as I can see, the Swiss are also "just talking" about the issue. What about Denmark? They have partial bans in place...

True, the Belgian law concerning face-obscuring wear, still in the making I think due to the whole having no real government and overall there being more of a political jihad between Flemish and Walloon for over quite some months now, has in the media always been called the burqa law (and boy do I love the media!). I trust the senate to make sure there's no slanted letter or word in the law's make-up that could make it even in the most LSD infected interpretation a law against burqas.
The law is in fact the federalisation of what local law has been saying from olden times: your face must be recognisable in public. This ties in into Belgium's concept of privacy and public security, which might be difficult to understand in a country that goes apeshit each time something along the lines of an ID card is mentioned. See, in Belgium, the street is considered a public arena. As a citizen I have rights and plights in that arena. One of the plights is: I have to have my ID on me at all times. This is the means by which I can prove to the cops that I have rights as a citizen. I do not have the right to be drunk in public. I do not have the right to run around naked in public. Not sure about fornication in public, but in any case, the rule of thumb is: don't do things in public you don't want your mommy to find out, right? If your neighbour sees you humping someone who is not your wife in public, you cannot sue him for invasion of privacy, all right? I do not have the right to ask a fellow citizen for his ID, that's privacy at work, and if you catch me standing on a box to try to peek in through your window to see what you doing with that woman who is not your wife, you can sue me for invasion of privacy even if I'm standing in the street. However, I do have the right to be able to identify any and all people hanging around in the public arena. That is my security against burglars, rapists, and all sorts of people that hide their face in order to do wrong.
Sadly this upsets a handful of people that have no evil in mind. Some are burqa-wearing Muslimas (I've seen estimations of 30 to 100, this on 10 million Belgians), who will probably be confined to the house if and when the law becomes active. It will probably upset a biker or two who in his haste to buy cigarettes or sumfin' might catch a cop in a bad mood. That is the price they will pay to keep our public arena safe and equal. They might be asked for ID. They might be asked to explain themselves or get a fine. Just like drunks might. Or not. And yes, the public has to keep a really close eye on the workings of the federal police, because yes, there are sadly far too many incidents that smack of racism.

So, all this considered, I'd like to invite rhipowered to do his own homework: I'm sure in the UK that all people are equal, are treated equal, that classes are in more than just name a thing of the past, and everybody lives the happy and carefree life of equal citizens: not afraid from fellow citizens and not afraid from government or its servants.

And then I'll raise you a veil-wearing MP. Where's yours?

Magic Dice

So, Scalzi's taking a long break and Whatever will become the playing ground of plenty of guest bloggers. Kate Baker showed us her dice and asked about ours, which is actually a great trick to break the ice, isn't it?
Unlike the topic of game systems, dice are a safe conversational subject. And the answers can tell you plenty about a person, game system, and preferred game play. You've got your mixed bag D'ers, 20-D'ers, 10-D'ers, 6-D'ers, even no D'ers.
Just by showing your dice, you're telling something about the game system you use.
And it got me thinking how there's two kinds of people in anything, even in rpg-dicing. You have those who do the cold math of risk calculation and you have those who always end up blaming the dice. Some of us believe in statistics (well, duh, you only had 12% chance to succeed in that roll) and some of us simply love the un-randomness of random.

I'm firmly in the latter pack, because dice are dice, and even if you have 4% chance of fumbling that one roll, you've got plenty enough chances to succeed, and plenty of chances to fumble again in the next. Trust me.

So as a player, you cannot but end up developing fetish excuses, like "Cold Dice Always Fail", or "Rolls on Soft Surfaces Always Succeed". In this animistic view, dice live up in a metalevel of roleplaying, become part of a character and characters on their own. It leads to buying new dice when you change characters*, and punishing them when they act up. Threaten them that they will be replaced.

Which is not an idle threat in my case. Over the course of 18 years, I've gotten quite the collection, and they all have stories. Going back over my most recent dice history, we have:

Manon de Brissot, daughter of a colonial landowner with noble roots, should have been a princess to be married off. But despite her parents efforts, she never lived up to that, the tomboy. Her dice were the classical rounded d6, in pink pearl with black pips, and mauve marble with black pips for the damage she dealt (and boy did she deal damage).

Sandre de Brissot, little brother of Manon, though with certainty a little indiscretion of her mom's with tonton Sevestre, a blond pirate and cursed adventurer,n and not the fruit of de Brissot's loins. Sandre was into forbidden knowledge, alchemy, magic and demons, and ended up a brilliant strategic in the army too. Sharp edged, dark purple with gold marble and golden integer. Always dancing with the devil, he was.

Aron (a.k.a. Captain Lonny, that's what you get for having Asian blood and teaming up with a damned redneck) had rounded d6 of metallic coloured plastic, which were lighter than normal, which irked me somehow so I ended up not liking them. The two damage dice of real metal with blue dots, however, I loved to bits. I'm thinking of getting more. Eventually I started using the red marble dice with gold pips I bought for the current game for Aron too.

So currently Yaroslava works with dark red marbled with gold pips for regular throws, Sandre's magic dice for powers, and the two heavy damage dice for punching people's lights out.

Hmmmm, all this talk about dice has made me want to shop for some new ones...


*I should add here that we usually spend around 3 to 4 years immersed in one world, and sometimes manage to stick to one character. I can see that if you play short story-arcs and often switch world your dice might just remain tools, simple as is, or as an extension of you, the player, personally.

Reaping what you sow

I'm wading through all the digital clutter that has piled up while I was busy in the flesh and slowly getting back in touch with the here and now. The business has also meant I did not work as much in the garden as I wanted to; I only had time to pick some fruit today, which in the blueberries' case means at least a kilo has been lost to utter over-ripeness and other decay. But not to worry, the yield is more better than usual, and as this picture shows they only become more gigantic. That blackberry's over an inch tall, y'all. Poor little Yaroslava should know better than to face this dark-skinned danger in daylight.

Speaking of Yaroslava, I've created a blog for my alter egos. Chances are that I'll have the time to write up some of her adventures when I'm on vacation in France.

The Void strikes back

Mark C. Newton had a comment inspiring post today, where he thinks about writers thinking about gender- or racefail issues.

There are those pro-female-emancipation warriors that feel all women must stand up for themselves, walk all over men in doing so (how else show that you're strong and independent), and in doing so also walking all over other women. But hey, you can't win them all, besides they are intelligent and strong, so they know best. Shut up. Also, they preferably look pretty while doing all this. Or not, but then they need another great character trait like be super generous, unbelievable handy, or of course be supernaturally smart. Which is a far more balanced view on women than the stereotypical serving wench and whores.

See, sometimes things are what they are. Me, I like to cook but got nearly expulsed from French discussion class in high school for saying so aloud. This first encounter with Emancipated Caucasian Chicks Inc. certainly left a mark, seeing as how it has spurred my bullshit detector to grow a specialized antenna for female emancipation crap. And I learned that some women can certainly do with some less emancipation, especially when their emancipation infringes on my rights and freedom to be the kind of woman I am or want to be. (Or, as was suggested in the comments of Newton's post: the kind of fiction I want to read).

In the minds of those emancipated chicks, the world would be a better place when women are like them: free, big mouthed, usually short sighted, with little empathy for anything outside the One Thing that matters. In my mind, the world would be a better place if they weren't all so sensitive to one single issue. I'm not for female emancipation, I'm for emancipation, the end. To me the issue is not limited to gender, but goes into the same box as homosexuals, immigrants and other people from other races, sweatshop kiddies, and even battery chickens. That sounds disrespectful, doesn't it? Well, just suck it up, wimp, because in my world those things are the same: issues that need special attention and special action, but with care not to disrupt the world surrounding the subjects. You can't change reality overnight, not because reality will fight back, but because there will be plenty of other issues crawling out of the woodwork as soon as you magically fix the problem. And most of those new issues you'd never thought had any link with the first issue. 

In the end, if you go through life swinging a hammer, everything starts looking like a nail. The discussions always dreg up Conan, but nobody mentions Tolkien. But seriously, what do female hobbitses do all day except cook, clean and produce more hobbitses? Damned misogynist of him, if you ask me!

And now I have this terrible urge to reread Cerebus again. All of it, especially the "terribly misogynist" parts. Ah good times.

But first finish cleaning (and especially putting order into the mess) my study, reading Palmer's Debatable Space (my God is that a fun story) and Newton's City of Ruin (which will have arrived by then).

Edited to add: aaah, digital blips *le sigh*

Marcus knows best

Some thoughts on boycotts for Gaza

What annoys me is that boycotting was so much easier in the Apartheid days, perhaps because it had an easy name. Perhaps we need some marketing dudes to get their asses on this.

Now, recently there has been a spade of cultural boycotts (since boycotting Israeli product most likely will only add to the suffering of those few Palestinians who still have the permit to work outside their "borders" ^(*), naming a few:

• Israelis won't be reading new Iain Banks material in Hebrew: but wouldn't taking steps to actually making sure no titles in whatever language are sold in Israel be more productive as boycott? Won't they just buy English? Unless of course he's planning another Feersum Endjinn
• Flocks of artists have canceled concerts in Israel, amongst others, Gorillaz (wtf? is this the man that tried to get music fans' conscience back on tracks during the acceptance of Gorillaz's first MTV award in 2001?) and and The Pixies (whose ethics apparently need a bit of blood before action is called for).

Then there is Elvis Costello, who was well ahead the game when he canceled his dates.

All in all, who am I to criticise? Every good deed done is one good deed done. All you can do in the crazy muppet show the world is, is stand your own ground, friendly and without arrogance, understanding full well that a man is worth as much as his deeds ⁽²⁾.


Belgian elections
Don't do it if it's not fitting, don't say it if it isn't true. Always keep your own purpose and resolution free from compulsion and necessity. Consider the true nature of everything you see and hear, dissect it in cause, matter, meaning and intent, and ponder upon its expiration date. ⁽³⁾⁽⁴⁾

So, Sunday is the big day. I've looked at party statements, and am saddened by the absence of real important stuff. Comparing statements of (verbal) communications is sometimes clearer: CD&V (Flemish Christian democrats, never get my vote FYI) talk about keeping retirement pay manageable, SPa (Flemish socialists) talk about having worthwhile retirement pay. It's the little stuff like that that makes the difference.

But after studying all the talking heads, I must conclude that I'll stick with the socialists this time, even if I'm greatly vexed that they're more concerned about making life a breeze for mums and children (hello baby-boom? Is that really what we need? Again? Isn't that exactly the cause of the current retirement pay problem?) instead of real structural changes. Like most parties--left, center or right--they have become terribly complacent. I agree with Peter Singer on this: the left hasn't really evolved since the 19th century, unlike then ideas of the right. Perhaps I should buy a box full of copies of his on a Darwinian Left and send them to lefty parties for free. It will be too late for this election, but it is never too late to change the world.


Wildheit @ Psychoshop
So the site is somewhattish back on its feet a bit, and this time I've made sure the SQL database gets automatically backed up. Murphy proof! Or so I hope.

There was this stuff I wanted to add to the site but I got completely lost in my terribly well-organised bookmarks ==> procrastination of the worst kind!

One cool design aid link: Online Color Scheme Designer

But all that getting lost in digiland made me think of what some smart ancient dude⁽¹⁾ once said (or hath sayeth or something):

Be not deceived; for thou shalt never live to read thy moral commentaries, nor the acts of the famous Romans and Grecians; nor those excerpts from several books; all which thou hadst provided and laid up for thyself against thine old age. Hasten therefore to an end, and giving over all vain hopes, help thyself in time if thou carest for thyself, as thou oughtest to do.
~ Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book III.14

So there, Marcus knows best, and I'm off to continuing some work. It will be hard, because as my recent false starts with the new books I bought prove: Cow Watcher is working on SF, so I can't read SF. So I guess I better find something fantasy amongst my projects that needs working on in the mean time...


^(*) bracketed because the Israelis don't seem to grasp the definition of "border": when its between them and the Palestinians its their border, if its between the Palestinians and the world it is their border (and not the Palestinians). That's like agreeing to the border between Belgium and France, but saying Belgium has a right to intervene on France's border with Spain, because it's our border too. Plus: agreeing on a border is agreeing to stop changing it.
⁽¹⁾ intentional use of ignoramus phrasing
⁽²⁾ a rephrasing of: Public shows and solemnities with much pomp and vanity, stage plays, flocks and herds; conflicts and con tentions: a bone thrown to a company of hungry curs; a bait for greedy fishes; the painfulness, and continual burden-bearing of wretched ants, the running to and fro of terrified mice: little puppets drawn up and down with wires and nerves: these be the objects of the world. among all these thou must stand steadfast, meekly affected, and free from all manner of indignation; with this right ratiocination and apprehension; that as the worth is of those things which a man doth affect, so is in very deed every man's worth more or less ~Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book VII.3
⁽³⁾ a rephrasing of: If it be not fitting, do it not. If it be not true, speak it not. Ever maintain thine own purpose and resolution free from all compulsion and necessity. ~Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book XII.13
⁽⁴⁾ a rephrasing of: Of everything that presents itself unto thee, to consider what the true nature of it is, and to unfold it, as it were, by dividing it into that which is formal : that which is material: the true use or end of it, and the just time that it is appointed to last. ~Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book XII.14

Rejection Rant

And then some; the subject is the nth iteration of the Famous Rejections, and the repeated remarks/comments they get.  It started out as some thoughtful responses, I swear.

Rejections build character!

Rejections build character?
Serious *snort* now!

I'm not averse to character building. I suspect that forced revisions and editing (AIIEE MUTILATION OY SHARP KNIVES CARVING THE FLESH FROM MY SOUL!) will be far more character building than an impersonal note from either editor or agent. I frown upon the idea that being denied something that you want and know you should have because you are worthy should be seen as character building, how the hell did those people ever get past their fifth birthday? That ever first no I had to swallow as a toddler prepared me well enough for: no, nyet, nope, nada, nix, nougat-balls, and just because, you figure it out.
It doesn't help finding it not fair (oy Calimero) that my genius is denied; it's not like I can wait until mommy leaves the house and sneak into the cupboard and take the cookie I so deserve.
An explanation would help making me bristle less at the no--we all have that same child still with us, and as everybody knows, some children are louder or more stubborn than others; I must confess to having a very headstrong and petulant child within, but I cope nowadays without pouting and stomping my feet and crying in public. But my character was built enough way back when to deal with an unexplained nope (mind you, not until I figured out that mommy notices cookies disappearing and it would do me no good ignoring that no). I'd like an explanation, but I can live without. But without explanation you don't have anything to build whatever with.
Now, if an agent would send me some flaring remark (what kind of drivel is this, you idiot, with which you disturb my most exalted thoughts?) I might not be happier, but at least I'd have something I could call character building.

I look at the digital stack of impersonal form rejections (stack, pfeh, let's not be overly dramatic: I only have like 9 or 10); I accept why these must be such, though I'm not fully convinced by the arguments (see later). But since I don't have to do that work, who am I to object? No is a no, and stomping my foot ain't gonna get me cookies.
Now, said digital stack of rejections first and foremost remind me I'm a storyteller, nay storyfinder. I can't look at them and not have Cow Watcher award those impersonal words voices, give them faces, and have them speak in a certain tone. When another incarnation of the List popped up on the Rejectionist's blog, I commented that at least those rejections are personal. My digital impersonal stack simply make me feel like a leper trying to sell skin lotion. Thank you but no thank you and have a nice day! Leper moves away from door, with difficulty negotiating the two small steps to the path, then the flagstones towards the street. Before reaching the next door, arm drops off... Oh no, whispers the lady in the next house, Quickly children, hide behind the couch. It's that leper from last year again!

But honestly, I was looking for a short explanation of my feelings when making that comment. What the stack really does is make me feel like a girl scout making her cookie-selling rounds and getting met by kindly smiling faces and a chipper: "Sorry! Not today!" and "Oh how awfully sorry, but I can't."
Brave Girl Scout will not be persuaded by a little adversity like that, but after wandering through many streets, she grows weary with the chipper folk. More and more she has to bite down on a slightly evil grin so as not to blurt out "You're awfully sorry, I know. Bye!" as soon as the door opens.
Surely there are better ways to use/lose time, she feels. It's such a lovely day, and if nobody wants these cookies, what's she trying to prove? But no, she's committed, she's hard working, she'll do this, the right way. So she soldiers on, no matter that her feet hurt.
But Girl Scout is also mere human, and hence prone to petulant inner monologue. She knows slinging cookies through people's front windows will not help the sales, but wouldn't it at least make her feel better? Her fingers are starting to hurt from knocking on doors and pressing doorbells, and pain is hard to bear if you cannot see its reason.
Being somewhat paranoid of nature, Girl Scouts ends up wondering if those chipper folk are all too kind to mention they bought cookies from another Girl Scout, and well, lovely as the cookies are, people have to think about health and diet and money these days. What she would not give for someone to say: "Oh no chocolate, I can't have any says the doc." At least then she would know that the cookie-selling-route-snatching-bitch-that-spoiled-her-day is only a figment of her dark side.

Another recurring remark/sentiment is the one that states it's a rite of passage. I find that one even more disturbing. At least a tribal rite of passage has rules for the ceremony that are clear, or I should say, that clearly state what they're about. In preparation for your rite you won't be told you need to show courage during your test, and then dropped unprepared into a pit with a hungry lion. No, you'll be well warned that you'll have to fight a hungry lion to show courage. To say those two things are the same would be showing a lack of intelligence, or of common sense.

A comment in Bransford's post on the list mentioned that every failure is a step towards success:

a reminder each time, that you are a submitting writer ever one step closer to your goal.

I'm not quite sure how to interpret that. Failure can teach you many things, but failure itself is not getting yourself any closer to whatever goal you've set. And without a teacher, a mentor, a direction or even a glimmer of an idea what causes the failure, how can you learn? Or should I cherish impersonal form rejections for another reason? Is this person perhaps hinting at the greatest secret in the publishing industry there is: might there be some wizard, some AI out there, that counts my form rejections, and if I reach the right number without blowing a fuse or letting slip a petulant remark, the doors of heaven will open and I will be taken up amongst the Angels of the Art?
Well... Crap on the Holy Cow. If only someone would have told me that years ago...

Bransford gives his reasons for finding fault with such lists; I'm slightly disappointed that all remarks and comments in whatever blog on the subject so rarely point out that comparing those rejections with current ones is comparing apples with pears. Why will nobody of our shepherds say out loud: those rejections have nothing to do with how the business is run nowadays. Why not slap down comments like "rite of passage" and "character building" like the fluff they are? Instead their silence only reconfirms the mantra: queries are the pain you must suffer, the ablutions you must do before being deemed worthy to the inner circle of the craft. So, write some more, it's good for your character, it's good for your soul.
You know, carrots are also good for you, but I'm no donkey, and I know when I'm strung along.

Those dear shepherds of the wannabe-writer masses pussyfoot about while they'll write page after page of detailed and thoughtful advice on queries. However, they won't say that the business has changed over the years, that their business has changed along with it, and that while they would love to find the next great artist writer they won't get his books sold. Perhaps even worse, that while they would love to find the next great artist writer, they no longer look for him.
Craft, they mutter, you must learn the craft. But it's not craft, it's not the potter forging beautiful dishes. The publishing industry is about factories copying the design and cranking out as many they can. Nay, it's not craft you must learn, it's industry. It's neither good or bad, but it is what it is and I feel more should be said about it.

Craft? Piffle. And this does not come from my frustration as querying wannabe-writer, but as reader. There's good stuff being written, but in the field of SF/Fantasy I haven't seen the likes of great storytelling like LeGuin's, or Zelazny's yet. Doubt we'll ever see something like him again and this makes me sad; I'll steer clear of questioning they would have broken through nowadays (which is like trying to argue whether aliens will like us or kill us when they come). No, honestly, I'd rather buy and read the next Zelazny than get my own stuff published. The system isn't broken because you need to rack up piles of form rejections, the system is broken because it fails to mention time and again it's first and foremost about selling copy nowadays, and less and less and even less chances are taken. It's sensible, logical, but not quite talked about as much as how it is about style and voice and craft.

It's not about writing, and it's not about craft, but about whether you can carry a platform. Will you go out and talk and do things having nothing to do with writing, and everything with selling? Will you humor fans? Do you understand what makes this business tick? Will your title sell enough within a short amount of time (and too short an amount of time to make a success of most of those writers mentioned in those lists), to make it worth it? I was just about wondering whether it might come to big boops being assets in getting published, but then this happened making it all too clear what the industry is about. Oh laugh at it, mock it, sure, but me, I'm laughing green, because I understand quite well who this particular joke is on, and illustrates so well why I'd better give up now. It's not about writing, it's about the person. And instead of giving me hope and courage, strengthen me in the idea that I simply must have an agent, simply must have an editor, simply must have a publisher, to do this the right way, they make me question if this is the right way. I'd like to get famous and rich overnight just like the next person, or whatever approximation I could ever dream of befalling me, but I'm not sure I want to pay the price. I just want to tell my stories, whether the world will buy them in masses, or not buy them at all. Just like proving courage and being chucked to lions or doing it the other way around, there's a difference between editing geared to making a manuscript into a better novel, or into a more salable novel. It is what it is, but is it what I want?

One of those things that makes me bristle when the shepherds speak of queries is the advice to personalize. I get that when thanking people when you do get published, you name the people that have helped you, whether they were paid for it or not. It's only polite, and makes perfectly sense. Just like writing a story is more than stringing words into sentences, jobs done with heart and good effort are more than something you can pay for with money.
I also understand the need to get a name right, the genre, and perhaps the preferences too. But why should I agonize over personalizing what should be an objective polite request to a stranger, while the addressed is perfectly aware that whatever I say is just a sugar-coating ploy. Something small, like "I like your blog!" or "loved that book you sold" in my weird head always get said in that immortalized tone of: I can see Russia from my house! Surely such fake sentiment will not help my book getting published? Couldn't we just go all out then and turn this show into America's Next Bestselling Author?
Another test of my character then perhaps: can I lie and fake interest in their person even if they promise their response (being 90% to 99% of the time the negative kind) will be an impersonal form rejection?

It annoys me and then some. I'm not a great people's person. Especially when strangers are involved. I pick and fuss over my words, lay awake at night wondering about certain glances, certain expressions I noticed. I HATE making telephone calls if it's my business, but I'll call to wherever if my job demands it, no problem, and I'll be polite and outgoing and not such a bad people's person but it's mostly FAKE. Why do I need to pretend to like strangers if they do not show me the courtesy they expect from me? N.B.: only a third of my rejections use my name in the response. And that simple little effort, an objective polite courtesy asked and returned, makes me feel less like a leper or a Girl Scout who can't get rid of her sodden cookies.

So all in all I'm wondering hard and deep now, reminded of the promise I made myself over Dreams of Cold Stone. I'll wait till summer and then we'll see...

Split or Bust: the circus continues

Something more that you need to know about BHV:

It is only a problem insofar that the political parties want a negotiated solution. The Flemish parties can put the split on the agenda of the Chamber, and except when Brussels slows the process down (the last possible delay of a vote in the Chamber), the split gets voted and then the Flemish win. Because the whole keeping things 50-50 between a 60-40 population seems to break down at that point. More Flemish in the Chamber, they vote, and it's F: 1 - W: 0

Now, what bugs me is that the keeping of the old electoral districts in the Brussels-Brabant area did not come into existence without the say-so of Flemish parties themselves. But they're suddenly all defending the right of a couple of idiots living in Walloon-Brabant because land is cheap there and actually don't give a rats ass that they can't vote on Flemish parties. But we mustn't say this. Flemish rights are violated, so let's use our predominance in the Chamber to make it happen! The way Flemish politicians are posturing, it's like boys boasting before a fight. Of course those Frenchies don't wanna see that happen, hey, now, do they? Hmm? Hmm?

Speaking as a Flemish person, seeing as how the Walloons have already scored points in Europe on the protection of minorities (some grounded, some a bit far-fetched), I don't think it's something to gloat about. They are a minority.

Hence, for many years all parties have ignored deadline after deadline in the negotiations on BHV. Deadlines, up until now, never really mattered. But the Open VLD (Flemish liberals) have a new leader, a young guy burning to prove his worth, so at the passing of the latest deadline he pronounced to have lost their confidence in the current government, which you may read as: we're tired of the clowns making up our majority. So that's why premier Leterme had to hand his resignation. And he was smiling upon returning from the king. Remind me to ask my saber trainer what they put in the coffee at the palace (so yes: governmental crisis again, equals missing one saber trainer, again. Stupid frigging politicians, don't they know the Belgium Fencing Championships for seniors is THIS weekend?)

Now, all parties agree this tragicomedy of a country needs a serious reform. BHV was chosen as the easiest of The Insurmountable Problems to solve, sort of a toe in the water. Alas, nobody really agrees on where the reform should stop, and the rub begins with nobody agreeing on what problem should be addressed first. As the debacle has proven: not flipping Bay-Hash-Vey!

I say: we've come to a point where sadly it would not make much difference whether we have democratic elections, have the king chose whomever he wishes amongst the politicians to have as ministers, or have a lottery amongst all citizens to pick a few who get to govern for a few years. It just can't get any worst. Governing on the federal level has been one long terrible show of electoral posturing the last few years, and politicians, no matter their poker faces, are really bad actors.

Comical note of the day: after Open VLD felled the government, the French-speaking parties vouched that they were still willing to work on a negotiated solution. Then Open VLD announced they too were still willing to negotiate, on some terms.

WTF? How the hell can you defend a twist like that if it's not solely political posturing? I want a lottery, and I want it now.

Split or Bust!

Yay! Political crisis in Belgium! Again!

A few months ago I would have whooped at the mention of the government (especially the conservative Christian Democrats) handing their resignation to the king, not to mention it's the same guy over and over (well, poor Leterme's gonna be slurping antidepressants for some years I think). But see, most of the Belgians are somewhat stunned by this strange race of people that come and tells us what the important political issues are and then start fighting about it until the government implodes. Again. I'd rather pay to watch WWE on cable. Because, when it comes to the crunch, you have these two items in the list of recent news: "The King considers [the government's resignation]", and "1.5 million Belgians in poverty" (and there are about 10 million of us). Well, that sort of eats up all my glee-energy. Because really, this political war that is raging in Belgium is just that, and the rest of us have other frigging problems.

But no, the media will blow their trumpets and make sure you hear it, trust me, throughout Europe the siren song will be sung:

There's a war going on and it's the end of Belgium!

Now this war rages between the Walloon part (French-speaking Belgians (FS)) and Flemish part (Dutch-speaking (DS)). Point of contestation is a reform in electoral districts, the logical consequence of a series of modernizations of the state that turned Belgium into this weird haywire democracy with complex layers of government. We have the federal state, spread over three Communities (French-, Dutch- and German-speaking), and three independent Regions (Wallonia, Flanders, Brussels), which gives us six parliaments (Federal, Flemish, Walloon, Brussels, French and German), and then there are still the local and provincial councils (luckily we don't get a vote on the provincial level, Mein Gott!)

N.B.: See! It is evidence itself that we deliver Europe its first president. We're all about simplifying government! :-]

This democratic haystack means we have to vote for local government (city councils), regional government (Flemish parliament) and federal government, leaving European elections out of consideration for now. All these elections are a logistical nightmare for a small country like Belgium. More modernization was needed. We're a country of logic and reason after all [Excuse me, we are? Thought that was France, or maybe England. We're fries and beer, no?]. Laws were adapted, electoral district borders were redrawn to coincide with provincial, except in 3 cases: Walloon Brabant (FS), Flemish Brabant (DS), and Brussels-with-an-expansion, better known as BHV [or B-H-V; pronounced (but go easy in the diphthong) by Flemish as Bay-Hash-Vey (Oy Vey!), and by Walloon as Bay-Ash-Vey]

Now Bay-Hash-Vey is one of the many Insurmountable Problems Belgium has, and most of The Insurmountable Problems find their origin in a language border being painted from east to west over the Belgian territory. This happened in the time when women burn their bras and students were killed for peace. Flemish students fight for the right to have education in their own language, which is okay I guess. It lead to the FS university elite being kicked out of the Catholic University of Leuven (Louvain in French), and they built a new one in Louvain-La-Neuve. See, we're very creative people, us.

The language border leads to laws concerning democratic rule, since there are less Walloons than Flemish people , and some sort of correction has to be enforced in federal elections else you end up with a Walloon minority. That's how bilingualism works. You can't have one FS or DS politician too many, even if they are perfectly bilingual. Plus, we Flemish are very good at playing the underdogs because that's what we were for a long time and now we have this habit and pretend we only act this way because we still have some quota left from the past.The French owe us, dude.

Everything got split in Belgium, and divided, and every euro going to Wallonia has to have its counterpart going to Flanders. Tiresome, I hear you think, but you haven't got the faintest! We have French political parties. Dutch political parties. And only in the true bilingual part of Belgium it's possible to vote for French or Dutch parties "as you wish": Brussels.

With expansion of the Brussels district, this means that people from a small part of constitutional Flanders (Halle, Vilvoorde) can vote for French parties and that's not fair for the two districts of Brabant, but certainly to the Walloon part because the Flemish living there can not vote for Flemish parties. Hence, the Constitutional Court decided BHV had to be solved. DS parties, lead by the Flemish nationalists, read this persistently as: has to be split. FS parties don't like this idea of splitting without getting something in return (like for instance an expansion of Brussels to include the problematic municipalities "with facilities" surrounding it).

The!Au!dacity! We only ask for LAW being applied. Plus, expanding Brussels is a ridiculous idea: it would create a corridor from FS territories direct to the heart of Brussels, which still suffers from more than a century of Frenchification. You don't want to make it any easier for those Frenchies to take over your capital, right? I can see them already, those damned frogs, lining up with their hastily prepared suitcases, ready to march right in!

You are entitled to go "Huh?" right now; it is what most Belgians feel after a decade of debate and political arm wrestling and deadlines and compromising and as long as the politicians can keep the show up none of us will start wondering whether paying that legion of idiots (six parliaments, I tell you!) is really the best way to spend our tax-euros. 1.5 million Belgians in poverty anyone?

Now, adding a little note about that number of elections: they have different intervals so whenever we vote federal there are people who leave the seat they were elected to in a regional election to "move up ". It is an annoyance. A crying shame according to many parties, who when it is their turn, do more of the same. Except for the Flemish Socialists who manage to not even give their guy with the most votes (and the best track record ever, and universally named as the most competent politician in Belgian history ever) a seat in *any* of the governments. Because the party knows best. Besides, if the other parties can shoot themselves in the foot and gain votes, surely socialists can do better! Another reason to not really applaud the Belgian crisis: for the first time in my life I wouldn't know who to vote for and that's a big problem in a multiparty system.

Back to BHV: my main concern is not about language borders or that it leads to annoyingly boring debates about them versus us. But the bad government it brings on instead of leading to actually improving politics. A lost chance for politicians to justify the need for our myriad of governmental levels, by making the difference clear: you have your people for local government, regional government and federal government. Not that there can never be any linkage between them, but seriously, the distance from Belgium to Flanders should be as big as to let's say Antwerp. It means that some parties won't exist on all levels (which is already the case), and that parties are forced to think about what they are going to do when getting to the federal level, instead of saying whatever swings the vote. Like: BHV will be split! Tomorrow! Trust us!

The solution to BHV is quite simple, though it does not translate to the endless promises Flemish politicians made in the past about The Split: let Belgians vote for any politician, no matter what side of the language border they come from, in federal elections. (N.B.: in European elections, a level even higher up, language is even less important). This also sounds to me like the best way to ensure the most competent people get into the federal government, and it will force parties to take the different levels serious. The federal level IS bilingual. We have griped in the past about our Flemish federal ministers being bilingual and their Walloon colleagues not, and the FS are studying hard to address our sensitivities. There's no better way to motivate the FS politicians to learn Flemish than making it important to be understood by voters. Federal level, bilingual, anybody's vote.

If politicians can't make such a divide between levels clear and workable, I don't see a reason to keep it all.

WHOA! Loaded remark here in Flanders! But no, I won't trade my capital Brussels with Antwerp (Flemish nationalists sport the idea of " Belgium bust" and separation): if this circus goes on I'd prefer to revert to 1830 and be forced to fill out my taxes in French, over reverting to some mythical Flanders of 1302. Not simply because I'm contraire like that but because anybody not from the provinces of East- and West-Flanders understands those truly and historically Flemish dialects.

Explanation of 1302: The Battle of the Golden Spurs is the national holiday of the Flemish community, because that's when the poor (but not financially so) people of Flanders won against the king of France! With pitchforks and cunning passwords, as the persistent folklore goes: when a francophone tries to say "Schild en vriend" (shield and friend) he'll betray himself easily ("skilt en frint"). Sort of like the TH in English; you get it with your mother's milk or never. Now, the importance of 1302 in the war of the languages in Belgium is highly overrated: the idea that it was French-speaking against Dutch-speaking is a myth invented by Flemish nationalist historians of the past, and novelists. And who says literature ain't important?

In reality, large parts of modern Flanders were the county of Namen and the duchy of Brabant back then, and those two fought on the side of the Frenchies. While dialects from Flanders, Brabant and Namen all had commonalities that are still reflected in the modern day dialects (French as well as Dutch-speaking dialects!), it wasn't a real language issue, but, as it usually is, one of economics, and helping to drown your neighbor to take over his market share.

Put like that, if you look from a distance at my beloved country and look really well, you'll see we're not so different from the Balkans. Our lands are just more fertile and our neighbors bigger and scarier.
And we have fries and beer.

Oy vey, enough already about this idiocy. I leave you with the modern day Jacques Brel, the incomprehensible-to-Dutch-speakers Flemish dude who sings in Flemish, French (knighted by the French Order!), English and anything in between... The universally adored Belgian artist, Arno, who said it best with: Nous sommes quand même tous des Européens!

Customer Review: reviewing the customers

Nathan Bransford kicked up a bit of Amazon Review Controversy in his blog and the comments are still growing (161 and counting). About everything and all got said, but to quickly recap (damn those US types that blog while decent people are asleep and dreaming):

A lot of responses displayed the Calimero-complex: it's not fair! And perhaps authors getting penalized for publishing decisions (albeit foreign or electronic rights) isn't, but another lot of responses admits that as buyers they don't use the reviews as absolutes. One smartypants had the Ye Without Sin-reflex: authors have been begging friends and family alike to post multistar reviews which is about as fair. Most commentators have a Simple Solution approach to the problem: proof of purchase reviews only allowed. But then, what if you are given a book for Christmas you really really want to rave about on Amazon, or if a friend passes you the book, or if you've bought it in the shop around the corner and just want everybody to read this book?
Then there's the So Not Gonna Happen solution: make the rules clear, and then Amazon can remove all the "not actually about the book" reviews. Sure, excellent solution. We tried that decades ago with double parking, and we certainly taught those double parking assholes to never do that again, didn't we?

Of course, there's also those comments that seem to be inherent to any article generating lots of comments, i.e. Strange Statements (you'll go broke if you underestimate the American public), The Truth is Out There (Amazon won't delete worthless reviews about Kindle versions because [insert shifty glances and finger on lips] they have a different agenda), Evil Overlord Delusions (The Industry doesn't like getting hit by Amazon's amazing flexing muscles mwahahahaaa) which are all besides the point because:
- besides the strangeness of stating that you'll go broke if you think Americans are dumb, Amazon.com is not limited by US Citizenship. If you're going to make statements about group strength, get your group right. P.S.: the rest of the world doesn't usually like it when Americans speak for The World.
- I'm pretty sure the reason Amazon lets it slide is that they'll probably need to hire an army to weed out those useless comments. And hiring people = spending money, and they're there to make money. Not to bring the people what they want. Not to cuddle their cutesy customers. Not to make statements about economics or politics or even ethics. To make money, simple as that.
- as said above, I don't think there's a secret agenda. Amazon itself gets hurt too by selling less, because, surprise! They don't do what they do for free. How's about that!

If I really have to pick a camp, it'll be the Intelligent Solution: the "request a Kindle-version" button that was mentioned a few times in some form or other. But then, I don't really care about reviews either (or "yet", eh). The tools Amazon is trying to use to get "information" to the customer are on the verge of hoaxes anyway (I'm going to save my Procrastinating with Readability Scores for the next post), and reviews are just an example. Always distrust the tools someone gives you to "help" in your decision making. Distrust numbers given, especially if they are pulled from some poll (news-services have a knack for that too), because percentages only work when they tell you what 100% stands for, and people usually don't. At least with the reviews on Amazon you can see how many there are and pick the ones that might make sense.

I think most people involved in the ranting and raving about Amazon vs. The World&The Industry, forget it's all about money. They are customers. Yes, there's that silly thing someone once said: customers are kings! In my bartending years I've heard that one often enough. Proper response from the getting-paid-to-make-your-boss-money viewpoint: And I am empress. Get over yourselves.

After bartending, I worked in a restaurant, hotel, and museum shop and found, while the activities were different, customer categories stayed pretty much the same:

A small slice of customers is polite, usually because they want help in some way or other, or because they are just nice people and actually want to show you that they care about the way you care about your job. They tip. They say thank you profusely. They smile and make your day, even if it's been the crappiest of your whole career and you're pulling double shifts and your feet really hurt. The customer you want to invent awards for, but believe me: small slice. As it is for business (being in it for the money), customers are in it for the buying. Not cuddling the shop assistant. Not being all nice and amazed that someone paid to bring their food actually brings their food.

Another small slice are the assholes, of course, there's no escaping them but luckily they're about as rare as the nice customer. They want to get served first, no matter who was in line before them. When they do they'll find fault with at least one thing, preferably something you can't help. Seriously, once I had this major asshole on a very crappy day tell me the line didn't move up quickly enough and this is a stupid country and he's never coming back here to spend his precious money. I mean *shrugs* what do you say to that except for a well-meant "Well, bye now!"

But the big middle chunk of customers don't really care. They drift, aimlessly, are quiet but are usually somewhat in the way. They order food, eat, pay, leave. They're not especially nice, they just are. The grazing herd. Though mind, they are also swing-voters. Anything can suddenly arouse their anger. One asshole cutting the line and then giving you a hard time, if not managed properly, will incur the wrath of the whole line.

So why not give you people some helpful advice on properly managing assholes at the tiller:
- Make eye-contact with the herd, make sure they know you know they suffer while you help this idiot but that there's no way around it. You're sharing a boat, and let's not rock it, okay? Eye-contact is the first step of bonding.
- Don't argue with the idiot; this lengthens the time he'll be in front of the line, and the herd wants you to get on with already. They'll turn on you, it'll be your fault. Why? I wanna say because customers are idiots, but that's not true. It's because customers come for the buying, and somehow their catharsis involves them handing you money. Don't be a tease, get the asshole out before you have a bunch of assholes on your hand. Also, take care: if you don't have a perfectly good and short sentence to explain/excuse why asshole feels the need to be an asshole (customer's always right, remember?), just nod and agree and say you're sorry. If you place yourself in the position that you have incurred his wrath, you are in control, not him, and you'll actually be able to get him past the tiller and out of the door much quicker.
- It doesn't hurt to express your annoyance once he's gone. As in [too chipper to be heartfelt] "And a very nice day to you, sir!" after which you turn to the next in line with a genuine smile (and relief will help you with that, no need for acting lessons), a sigh of relief and a true "Can I help you, sir?" By this you will give the whole line's annoyance direction (it's that idiot's fault they had to wait), but also tickle their reptile brain with the notion that if they don't behave, they will be marked as asshole by the herd.

Quick Notes continued

Also, last year, whilst browsing a second hand bookshop for Christmas gifts (we usually find some quirky theater play for muminlaw that way), the hubby found a book of which he said: "Here, that's one for you!" Well, actually he used a Flemish/Dutch expression which, translated literally, gives: "It's written on your body."

The Games People Play, subtitled The Basic Handbook of Transactional Analysis, is a quite readable manual in which the way we people talk and act around eachother is analysed into handy formulaic patterns. You can read more blahblah on it on its Wikipedia page.

I found the book eerie, as I always do when complex human behavior is revealed to be quite simple programming. Never fails to catapult into the past, many many years ago, where I sat in front of our C64, typed in the code given my a computer magazine, and presto: had my own version of Pong. Wow! That's how easy it is!

But it's also interesting, because the simple patterns are an excellent tool to look at dialogues and other human interaction from a writer point of view.
Up till now, whenever I wrote anything from a pissing contest to venomous green-eyed spitting match, it has always been the inspiration of the moment, and not necessarily what the plot required. Nothing so angst-inspiring as knowing I have to make my characters angry at each other. Very very angry. And there has to be dialogue.
Over the years I managed to get a better feel for it; it helps to crawl into the character's skin and annoy the crap out of him/her until he/she finds her angry voice. But still I'd rather find a way around my characters having a hissy fit on the page. Fake verbal fights are ... so fake.

Luckily now (well, quite some time ago but for me just a few months ago) the mechanics of such "transaction" are revealed with absolute clarity. Very helpful for writing. Also, very helpful for realizing how my own hissy fits work and doubt the hubby finds that a bad thing, 'ey.

So, Games People Play. Look it up. Cool stuff.